Ten Hours
by Alipeeps
Summary: Alex takes Michael back to Vega. Whumpy episode tag to 1x03 Broken Places.


_Three episodes in and I am totally hooked on Dominion – and particularly the archangel Michael. :) And how could I not looooooove the awesome Michael whump of episode 3... and want to see more of it? So yeah, I kinda had to tag it. :D_

_If you've not seen it, there's a lovely teaser clip out there for episode 4 which has provided a lot of the details for this fic._

_My first foray into Dominion fanfic – hope you like it!_

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><p>"This is A Lannan, passcode 2271. I've got Michael with me and he's injured. I repeat, this is a medical emergency. Open the gates!"<p>

The city walls loomed over them as Alex gunned the engine as fast as it would go, the Nevada desert whipping past in a blur as he raced for the safety – for the salvation - of Vega. He cast a glance at his passenger, his throat thick with fear and desperation. The archangel was still unconscious, slumped loosely in the seat, his head tipped to one side. He was pale – paler than usual? Alex couldn't tell – and still, his hands curled loosely in his lap, the only sign of life the faint, laboured rasp of his breathing.

More than once on the long drive Alex had had to stop the car and kill the engine for a moment just to listen, just to reassure himself that Michael was still breathing, still alive.

The first tendrils of dawn were just starting to colour the sky as they approached city, the spires and towers within still glittering with electric lights in the darkness of the pre-dawn. He had driven right through the night, his only thought to get help; and the only place he could find that help was Vega.

"_Don't remove it. I'll bleed to death."_

That was the last thing Michael had said to him. His eyes were drawn helplessly to the bloodied shard still protruding from the archangel's abdomen. The left side of Michael's shirt was dark with blood, the material glistening wetly. Alex's hands, clenched on the steering wheel, were caked with dried blood. Michael's blood.

"_I'll bleed to death."_

It had never occurred to Alex that Michael could bleed to death. That Michael could _die_. It just... wasn't a possibility that he had ever considered. The archangel had always seemed so aloof, so distant, so powerful... as though such petty, human, concerns as life and death could not touch him. And Alex knew, as everyone did, that they'd only survived the war thanks to Michael. That the archangel had fought alongside the humans, fought Gabriel and his legions of lesser angels, fought and killed and survived. He'd seemed invincible.

"_So what am I supposed to do? Michael! What am I supposed to do?!"_

What the hell did Alex know about archangels? What did any of them know about archangels? Eight balls were one thing – those could die, those he knew how to kill. But an archangel? Alex had no fucking idea about that, no idea what to do. The only thing he could think of was to get Michael to people who could help, people who might know more than him.

So he'd dragged the unconscious archangel to the car and done his best not to jostle the protruding shard as he'd hoisted him into the passenger seat. Michael hadn't stirred even once as Alex had manhandled him into the car. He'd been completely limp, a dead weight. And all Alex could do as he'd wheelspun the car back onto the highway, as he'd turned back towards Vega and put his foot to the floor, as the night had come down around them, was to hope against hope that Michael could hear, and adhere to, his desperate plea, "Hang in there."

"2271. I repeat, I have Michael with me, he is in need of urgent medical assistance. Open the damn gates!"

His message must have caused a shitstorm in the control room because it seemed like half the damn city was waiting for him on the other side of the gates – security squad with weapons drawn, archangel corps with pinched, anxious faces, senators looking flushed and hurriedly-dressed, you name it. But the only people Alex cared about were the medical team who pushed their way through the crowd as he jerked the vehicle to a halt.

He was out of the vehicle almost before it had stopped moving but before he could get around to the passenger door he was grabbed by the security squad and slammed against the car, a detection scanner shoved in his face. Just like old times. Only today he did _not_ have time for this shit.

"Get off of me!" He tried to shove them away, twisting around to try and see what was happening with Michael. And then a gun was pointed in his face and even then it took everything he had not to knock it aside and fight his way free. But he gritted his teeth and fumed as the scanner was again thrust at him.

"Possession: Negative."

He was pushing his way free before the scanner had even finished its declaration, ignoring the gun and the officer's protest. The medics had gotten Michael out of the passenger seat and were laying him carefully on a gurney. He was still unconscious, his head lolling loosely, bloodied hands resting limply on his thighs. A scanner beeped and chattered worryingly as someone took readings.

"Is he gonna be okay?" His voice sounded thick, ragged.

The woman with the scanner looked up. "You were with him when this happened?"

"Uh, yeah," he nodded.

"How long ago?"

"Uh..." Alex struggled for an answer. Time had had little meaning during the long drive back to Vega, his only awareness of its passage the growing concern for Michael and whether he could hold on long enough. He remembered the timepiece at his wrist, vaguely recognising in his dulled reactions the first signs of shock kicking in, and did some hasty calculation. "Maybe... ten hours?"

Ten hours. Had it really been that long? Ten straight hours of highway whipping past under the wheels, his foot pressed to the floor, Michael's life blood slowly saturating the fabric of his shirt, dripping down onto the seat beneath him.

The scanner beeped again and the medic grimaced. "We need to get him to the infirmary. Now."

The gurney started moving and Alex moved with it, jogging alongside just as the medics did, one hand defiantly gripping the guardrail, his gaze fixed on Michael. He was not leaving.

He found himself murmuring words of encouragement, of desperate hope, as they hurried along, just as he had done on the long drive back to Vega. "Hang in there, Michael. Hang in there."

The gurney rolled to a halt and more medics swarmed around it, wielding stethoscopes and other equipment that Alex couldn't name. Michael lay pale and still at the centre of all the chaos, his features relaxed. In unconsciousness, the face that Alex often found cold, haughty, bore instead a peaceful expression, almost innocent.

The medic shook her head. "He's losing too much blood."

The dreadful gnawing fear that had been his constant companion for the past ten hours knotted in his stomach and he found himself repeating his desperate question of just moments before. "Is he gonna be okay?"

The medic looked up from her work, seeming only now to become aware of his continued presence in the medical bay, and ordered, "Get him out of here."

Hands started pulling him away from the gurney as the medic repeated her order and the last thing he saw, as an orderly not so gently lead him away, was an oxygen mask being placed over the archangel's face.

"I'm right here, Michael!" Some part of him still hoped against hope that the archangel could hear him, that his words, the encouragements that he'd repeated over and over throughout the long night, could inspire Michael to hold on to life that little bit longer, to just not _die_. "I'm right here!"

"Wait out here." And with that, the curtains were pulled closed, shutting him out.

He barely had time to take a breath, let alone to begin to process everything, when an archangel division security squad marched into view. "Lannan."

"Yeah."

He didn't really pay them much attention, choosing instead to tug the curtain open a little and peer through. But then two of them grabbed him and that got his attention real quick as the squad leader announced, "You're under arrest."

"What?! What for?" Was this guy fucking kidding? After all that had just happened? With Michael _bleeding out_ behind a goddamn curtain?

"Desertion of duty."

"No, I've gotta be here. I've gotta be here!" He didn't have time for this. Michael was fucking _dying_ in there and it was all his fault. Michael had been protecting _him_.

But in Vega, as he knew all too well, rules were rules and no exceptions were made. And there was nothing he could do as he was dragged away, other than call out desperately, "No! No! Michael! Michael!"

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><p><em>Fin? Hmm... dunno... I may do a follow-up chapter... :)<em>


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